


Holding On

by SwanFloatieKnight



Series: The Great War [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - World War I, Blood and Injury, Caring Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Emotional, Established Relationship, Fever, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Soldiers, Trauma, True Love, World War I, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26999059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwanFloatieKnight/pseuds/SwanFloatieKnight
Summary: Maybe things had to be this way. His life could have taken so many turns after all, but he had ended up here, with Merlin by his side.Arthur and Merlin meet during the Great War, and soon there is more than just friendship that ties them together
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: The Great War [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983064
Comments: 14
Kudos: 76





	Holding On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FervidAsAFlame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FervidAsAFlame/gifts).



> get your tissues ready Tori XD nah dw it's actually not that deep I think

A/N: I posted this fic on Ao3, and on Ao3 alone. If you read this on any other website or platform, please consider that I did not consent to this.

* * *

Arthur was lying in the dug-out, water dripping from the ceiling and seeping through his coat from the mud he was lying in. Rats were running over his legs, his chest, sometimes even his face, they were keeping him from sleep. He was tired, hungry and cold. His whole body ached. And most of all his heart.

The cause of this pain was Merlin, who was lying next to Arthur and a little above him on a narrow cot. His breaths were shallow and wheezing, whole body trembles let them hitch from time to time. Trembles that did not only come from the cold, but mainly from the fever that had taken hold of him.

Merlin and the worries for him were what actually kept him awake. Not the rats. Not the gnawing hunger. Not the deadly, threatening silence that hung over the trenches, feigning safety when really no one was safe out here.

A sniper’s bullet had hit Merlin’s left shoulder two days ago. Arthur and Gwaine had removed the bullet while Percival had held him down. Merlin had screamed and sobbed and struggled and his blood had been everywhere and Gwaine had poured the last of his whiskey over the wound after Arthur had managed to get out the bullet. Then they had wrapped him up in bandages to staunch the bleeding and after a while the sobbing had stopped and Merlin had fallen quiet. Arthur had then taken him to the dug-out and lowered him down on the cot where he still was now.

During the last night the fever had taken hold of Merlin. Gwaine’s whiskey apparently had not been enough to stave off the infection that had claimed the wound. When Arthur had changed the bandages this morning the flesh had been swollen and angrily red, pus soaking the bandages. They had found some more alcohol to clean it, Gwaine had generously but with much regret sacrificed his last reserves. But it wouldn’t be enough. They had to get Merlin out of the trench, behind the lines so he could recover in an actual hospital, not out here in the dirt. No wonder he was now so badly off.

Percival was on watch outside, Gwaine was snoring next to Arthur in the mud, not bothered by the rats or maybe just too exhausted to care. Arthur wished he could just fall asleep like Gwaine. They all had nightmares, the terrors they lived through every day catching up with them in their dreams.

Arthur was staring into the darkness, his left hand holding Merlin’s right one. Merlin was burning up, but his hand was cold and sweaty. Yet Arthur couldn’t let go of it. It was like a lifeline he clung to, a superstitious hope that as long as he held Merlin’s hand he would not die. He would hold onto life like Arthur held onto him. He surely would, wouldn’t he? He couldn’t leave Arthur alone, right?

They had met in 1914, Merlin barely old enough to join the army, Arthur talked into it by his father. They had both been patriotic idiots at that time, and their idiocy and their patriotism had only brought them to the trenches in France with all the German shells and machine guns, their flame throwers and their mortars and their chlorine and mustard gas. With cold and mud and hunger and blood and _killing_. Everything about it was horrible.

‘And yet,’ Arthur thought, ‘I would probably sign up again if it was 1914 once more.’ Not out of patriotism though, no, but for Merlin. His mother had been right when she used to say that everything in life had something good to it, sometimes it just took you a little longer to find it.

It had taken Arthur about five months. It had been 1915 in January, a bitter cold night when he had noticed Merlin for the first time. They had been in the same unit since they had come to France in September, and by now they were the only ones left of their old regiment. And so they had clung to one another and soon had formed a strong bond that was by now running deeper than any pre-war friendship might have been.

Arthur needed Merlin like he needed the air around him to breathe. Never in his life had be been so grateful to have met someone, to have become friends with someone, to be loved by someone. Because Merlin loved him, and he loved Merlin, and that’s how it should always have been. Sometimes Arthur couldn’t believe they really had to go through more than three years of this bloody war only to become friends. Why could they not have met in happier times?

Maybe things had to be this way. His life could have taken so many turns after all, but he had ended up here, with Merlin by his side. They had met by chance that Arthur would call happy if it had not been on one of the bloodiest battle fields in the history of the British Army. At least they had it made out alive, just like they had made it out of Ypern and out of the Somme. Somehow they were still there, both of them, with scars disfiguring both their bodies and souls, but alive and holding onto each other.

Just like Arthur was now holding onto Merlin’s trembling hand. Beneath his finger he could feel Merlin’s weak and irregular pulse and it frightened him. What if he lost him? If Merlin left him alone? Would he be able to go on?

Merlin had been there to make him smile even when they had seen their Lieutenant being ripped to shreds by a German shell mere hours before. He had been the one to befriend Gwaine who somehow always knew where to find some extra rations of food. He had saved Arthur’s life more times than Arthur could remember.

“I love you, Merlin,” Arthur whispered into the wet darkness, “I love you, and I need you. I hope you know this, you dollophead. Don’t leave me alone here in this muddy trench. Whom should I tell my stories, then?”

But Merlin didn’t answer, not even a hitch of his breath or a movement of his hand gave Arthur any sign that his friend might be conscious. Arthur sighed heavily and sent a silent prayer up to the dripping ceiling. If only Merlin made it through the fever. If only they would stay together. If only.

Next to him Gwaine suddenly twitched and then woke with a short but panicked cry, his hands clinging to Arthur’s coat. Arthur turned to him and reached out with his free hand. Carefully he put it down onto Gwaine’s shoulder, patting it lightly. They kept hold of each other until finally Gwaine relaxed a little. He took a deep breath.

“Bloody war,” he mumbled before lying down again.

Arthur just nodded.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, please leave me a comment and Kudos! :D


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